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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26552215">name and soul, flesh and bone</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/FluffNStuff/pseuds/FluffNStuff'>FluffNStuff</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/writehandman/pseuds/writehandman'>writehandman</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Jango Fett Open Seasons (Comics)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canonical Character Death, Deception and Betrayal, Eventual Romance, Mandalorian Culture, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, Tor Vizsla needs a haircut and shampoo, True Mandalorians, arla lives and is a lesbian, first thing you have to know: canon isn't real here, fuck you karen traviss, gratuitous mando'a, obviously, this ends happy we promise its just a long road to get there</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 08:27:09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>13,907</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26552215</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/FluffNStuff/pseuds/FluffNStuff, https://archiveofourown.org/users/writehandman/pseuds/writehandman</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>As soon as she saw him, she dashed across, pushing people aside until she got to him. </p><p>Jango was on his feet before he even noticed it, collapsing into her arms and sobbing into her shirt. “Arla- Arla I thought I was gonna be alone- our buire- Arla, ori’vod, What are we gonna do?”</p><p>She buried her face in his hair, and he could feel the way she was trembling. “I don’t know, I don’t know Jan’ika, we’ll figure it out, together, promise.”<br/>-----<br/>Arla lives. Everything changes.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Arla Fett &amp; Jango Fett, Arla Fett &amp; Jaster Mereel, Arla Fett &amp; Montross, Jango Fett &amp; Jaster Mereel</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>144</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Arla Fett deserved better. So of course this thing spun wildly out of control. Be prepared for the long haul, we're just getting started. You're welcome.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jango had his rifle slung over his back, peering through the waving stalks of the rye fields. He kept hearing rustling that was louder than just the borcatu scavenging. Jango thought it might be one of Arla’s friends who’d come to visit, and was waiting until she could sneak out of the house.</p><p> </p><p>The heavy treaded prints in the soft earth made him reevaluate. He took his rifle down, just in case, resting the stock against his side. Solid footsteps approached from behind, and Jango spun, his grip on the forestock tightening.</p><p> </p><p>He relaxed as he recognized his father, who looked slightly more somber than usual, though he offered him a small smile.</p><p> </p><p>“What’s that, buir?” Jango asked, peering up at his father as he strode deeper into the fields, basket tucked underneath an arm. “Are you gonna follow the bootprints?”</p><p> </p><p>His father paused and reached down to ruffle his hair slightly. “Already did, ad’ika. It’s just some food, there's a beggar in the fields.”</p><p> </p><p>Jango wrinkled his nose as his hair was mussed up and went to go follow. “A beggar? Who? Are they from around here? It’s not one of Arla’s friends, is it? Why don’t you just invite them into the house?” </p><p> </p><p>He laughed. “So many questions. Go do your chores and then you can ask me all the questions you want.”</p><p> </p><p>“What chores?” He asked innocently. Maybe if neither of them remembered, Jango could go play. Or spy on the beggar.</p><p> </p><p>“Aren’t you supposed to be fixing the harvester, Jan’ika?” Buir raised an eyebrow. “I’m pretty sure that’s been your chore all season.”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know about <em> that-” </em></p><p> </p><p>“Harvester, Jango. Don’t make me tell you again.” He said, voice tinged with amusement, as he continued to follow the bootprints deeper into the rye.</p><p> </p><p>Jango pouted, dissapointed, but trudged off to fix the stupid havester, <em> again. </em> It just wasn’t fair, he had to do all the boring stuff, and Arla got to go <em> hunting </em> , and soon she was going to get her own set of beskar’gam, and Jango had to wait <em> five whole years! </em>He got to the harvester and kicked the treads in a huff. </p><p> </p><p>Now he was annoyed, and his foot hurt too. </p><p> </p><p>Jango pulled the strap of his rifle over his head and leaned it up against the tread casing closest to him.</p><p> </p><p>He sat down with a huff, and leaned over to pull the toolbox closer to him. He grabbed out a screwdriver, and pried off the circuitry cover. It was never the engine having problems, it was <em> always </em> the circuits. The dust got in between the cracks in the panels and coated the copper. Jango kept telling his buire that they needed to just get it sealed properly but what did he know? He was eight. Didn't mean it wasn’t his job to fix the harvester.</p><p> </p><p>The sun was beating down hard, and he reached up to wipe his brow. His eyes caught movement in the reflection of the window and the harvester, and his stomach sunk as a high pitched noise whirred behind his ear.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey kid.”</p><p> </p><p>He spun around, dropping the screwdriver and bolts he was holding. A tall, pale man with stringy black hair stood between him and the fields, a man with the worst receding hairline he’d ever seen, and someone with their buy'ce firmly on.</p><p> </p><p>The man grinned, a sickly sort of smile that promised nothing good would happen. “Show me your hands.”</p><p> </p><p>Jango knew he wasn’t a journeyman, Buir would have said something if they were coming to visit. And plus, his beskar’gam was painted red and black. Jango didn’t <em> think </em>holding eight year olds at gun point was particularly just or bringing much honor to a parent, but some people had weird families. So he held his hands up, proud that he was only trembling a little. “What do you want?” </p><p> </p><p>“We’re looking for some bad men,” Greasy hair said, as Receding hairline jammed the blaster rifle in Jango's face. “Have you seen any strangers around?”</p><p> </p><p>“Other than you?” He asked, glancing at the rifle mere feet away from him that he couldn’t get to.</p><p> </p><p>Receding’s lip curled back. “Smart kid. Let’s just shoot him and move on.”</p><p> </p><p>Greasy leaned right into Jango's face, a gloved finger touching the tip of his nose. His eyes glittered with malice, “I <em> will </em> let him kill you. I won’t even feel bad about it. Now tell me, kid. Seen any <em> other </em> strangers?”</p><p> </p><p>“My dad- He gave a beggar some food. Um, he wouldn’t let me go see, or anything, I had to go fix the harvester. But, uh, he wore boots! Soldiers boots, I think.” He stuttered out.</p><p> </p><p>Greasy stood back, straightening up. His scowl deepened even more. “Jaster,”</p><p> </p><p>“So what now? Do I shoot the kid?” Receding asked.</p><p> </p><p>Jango squeezed his eyes shut as the blaster whirred, louder and higher pitched this time.</p><p> </p><p>“No, now we make sure he gets back home.” Greasy waved forward Buyce, who grabbed Jango's arms tightly, and began dragging him through the field toward the homestead.</p><p> </p><p>-----</p><p> </p><p>Arla stared at the counter, chin resting in her hand. “So why can’t I go out with Bidu and Aydosa? We’re not gonna go see boys or anything.”</p><p> </p><p>Her mom snorted, and set down the knife she was sharpening. “Honey, you and boys is one of the things I’m least worried about. And I know you kids don’t do anything with spice. Now <em> alcohol </em> is a different story.” </p><p> </p><p>“Thats not me, promise.” </p><p> </p><p>“I know it’s not, I’m just teasing honey. I saw your father grab a bottle for that basket he was carrying out to the fields, don’t you worry. No, the problem is you three go and try to sharpshoot out by the dam, and one of the Juajors’ strills keeps bringing back the shells instead of game like he’s supposed to.”</p><p> </p><p>Arla groaned and let her head drop down onto the varnished wood. “Aw come on. It’s the only fun thing to do around here anyways.”</p><p> </p><p>She reached over and ruffled her blonde curls. “It’s good to practice your marksmanship, yes, but we’re farmers Arl’ika. That sort of thing is for soldiers.” </p><p> </p><p>“Dad took over with the Journeymen, why can’t I do something like that?” She complained. “I don’t <em> like </em> farming.”</p><p> </p><p>“Which is why I send you hunting. I’m not a farmer either, Arla, but the mercenary life really takes a toll on you. Especially the knees. If you ever get into that line of work, <em> padded </em> knee guards. You’ll thank me.” She turned back to the piles of knives, and picked her whetstone back up. Sure, you could do it with a sonic, but everyone in town knew that the best way to do it was by hand.</p><p> </p><p>And Arla’s mom was the best around with a whetstone and some diamond dust. </p><p> </p><p>“I still don’t want to farm.” She wrinkled her nose. “I finished all my chores anyways, if I promise not to go shoot out at the dam can I go hang out with my friends? Please?”</p><p><br/>“Mm, maybe later. Help me with these first, you need to know how to handle a kad at some point, and while these knives may not be that close, you’ll at least know how to handle a bladed edge.”</p><p> </p><p>“Fine.” She muttered, picking up a wicked looking cleaver, and the kal’choruk closest to her from the bowl of water, beginning to angle it against the knife.</p><p> </p><p>It was a quiet sort of repetition, just the rasp of metal, the occasional break to re-wet the stones, and the quiet sound of the wind rustling.</p><p> </p><p>Arla’s mother froze at some point, and silently set down the paring knife she was holding, a finger against her lips urging Arla to stay quiet. She walked over and put on her boots, leaning against the wall and pressing her ear to the door.</p><p> </p><p>Slipping the whetstone into her pocket for later, Arla was about to ask what was going on when she heard people shouting, and the sound of a blaster bolt.</p><p> </p><p>She flinched slightly when her mother rushed to the rifle hanging above the doorframe, effortlessly hiking it down and loading it with practiced ease, the movements of someone who’d done it a thousand times. Something <em> bad </em> was happening outside, and that's when she focused on the words being said.</p><p> </p><p>“Where’s Jaster Mereel?” Someone snarled in a deep, grating voice.</p><p> </p><p>“I haven’t seen him since he was exiled-” And the door opened and suddenly her buir was stepping onto the porch silently, shotgun at the ready, and Arla dashed out after her, bare feet against the weathered floorboards. “- I’m the journeyman protector here, I’m the law.”</p><p> </p><p>“No,<em> this </em> is the law.” Deep voice said, long stringy black hair hanging around his face. “Answer the fucking question or your kid’ll be wearing your brains.”</p><p> </p><p>Someone in full beskad had Jango by the hair, pushing him right next to the loaded blaster, and her father's bloody and beaten face.</p><p> </p><p>Arla saw her mother take aim and shoot the man directly in the visor. “Drop my child!” She shouted, readying the rifle to shoot again.</p><p> </p><p>“Jango, <b><em>run!”</em></b> Her father shouted at the same time her mother yelled at her. <em>“Arla, go!”</em></p><p> </p><p>“Buir- what’s going on?” She cried out, scared and confused and somebody was dead and oh they were all gonna die and-</p><p> </p><p>“Arla <em> run. </em>Grab Jan’ika, run and don’t look back!” She roared, planting herself in a defensive stance as Arla took off through the chaos, following Jango’s path through the rye fields.</p><p> </p><p>She sprinted as fast as she could, quickly catching up to her brother, and ignored the way her feet ached as she raced <em> away, away, away </em>. </p><p> </p><p>And then a beskar clad arm grabbed Jango by the wrist, and she knew they were dead. It was either this or the fire she smelled burning a trail behind them.</p><p> </p><p>“You kids alright?” They asked, releasing Jango now that he wasn’t going to charge full speed into them, dented gray beskar with red trim. “I’m sorry to break it to you, but I don’t think your folks made it out of this one. You need to come with us if you don’t want to march alongside them.”</p><p> </p><p>Jango turned back and looked at the field tearily, blazing as flames jumped and pulsed, climbing high and travelling far quicker than it seemed was possible, leaving nothing but charred ground in their wake. He reached out, and grabbed Arla’s hand, clutching it like a lifeline.</p><p> </p><p>“Jango-”</p><p> </p><p>“- Yeah.” He whispered, barely audible over the roar of flames.</p><p> </p><p>One of the people called back towards the man with the red, “It’s burning too fast! We’re fucked, Jaster!”</p><p> </p><p>Jango dropped Arla’s hand, and turned to the armored mandalorians. “This way! I know a way out!”</p><p> </p><p>“Lead the way kid!” One of the others yelled at him, her voice strained as the smoke began to overwhelm them.</p><p> </p><p>Jango tore off, the others following after him, and Arla found herself firmly in the middle of a pack of strangers, barely able to see her brother through the haze.</p><p> </p><p>Jango was trying his best to unscrew the hatch on the irrigation tube, and the man, Mereel, took over for him, easily opening it up.</p><p> </p><p>“Are you crazy?” Someone scoffed. “We’ll be boiled alive.”</p><p> </p><p>“Shut up Montross,” The woman next to him scolded. “It’s a grassfire, they burn high. This kid just saved our sorry asses, try to be positive.”</p><p> </p><p>Montross grumbled, and watched the woman climb into the hatch, as Mereel lifted Jango down with her help. He turned to look at Arla. “If we get boiled alive, I’m blaming the two of you.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s that or burn alive, pick your poison.” She crossed her arms, trying not to show how bad she was shaking.</p><p> </p><p>He snorted slightly, watching the others enter the irrigation pipe. “Well, at least I can see the fire coming. Get in the tube kid, I always take up the rear.”</p><p> </p><p>She walked over to the hatch, and swung herself down into the almost cavernous internal maintenance portion of the pipe, the moment where she dropped without touching anything spiking her adrenaline. Arla landed, calf deep in water, stumbling a little. At least her feet didn’t feel like they were blistering anymore. One of the mandalorians, offered a hand to steady her, which she accepted gratefully. The tube shrunk significantly after just a few feet, they’d have to crawl their way out.</p><p> </p><p>Montross landed right behind her, and he groaned. “Why couldn’t it have been walkable the whole way?”</p><p> </p><p>The mandalorian who she was holding on to let out a sigh. “Stop being a baby Montross, you’re whining.”</p><p> </p><p>He sputtered, “I am <em> not- </em> ” and paused “Osik. I <em> am </em> whining. Damn.” </p><p> </p><p>Arla ducked her head, biting her lip so she wouldn’t let out the giggles that were threatening to escape. She didn’t know if it was actually funny, or if she was just hysterical. Maybe a bit of both.</p><p> </p><p>From far down the tube, a snapped command of <em> “Taabir!” </em>echoed back to them. </p><p> </p><p>Montross sighed. “I’m going to give Jaster the biggest <em> ‘I told you so’ </em> I swear. Alright, get moving, I really don’t want to be boiled.” </p><p> </p><p>Arla rolled her eyes and crossed to the offshoot tube that Jango had picked, the one that dumped out above the old dry creekbed, ducking her head down as she started crawling after the others.</p><p> </p><p>----</p><p> </p><p>Jango was pulled out by the man he’d been following, who seemed to be the leader, blinking sharply against the daylight as his eyes readjusted. He stumbled out of the opened grate, finding the best footing he could on the boulder it was set into. </p><p> </p><p>“You doing okay kid?” Mereel asked,walking towards the edge of the dropoff. “I’ll go down first, and catch you if you fall.”</p><p> </p><p>“I can climb, I’m not a baby.” He protested.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sure you can, but the rocks here are really loose. I’ve seen enough verd slip and eat shit- Er, I mean fall and hurt themselves-” </p><p> </p><p>“I know what shit means.” Jango huffed. </p><p> </p><p>“Okay, good.” The man breathed out in a huff. “It’s hard enough to censor myself around the ad’ike when we’re on base, I just can’t compartmentalize that when I’m in the field.” Mereel began picking his way down to the ground.</p><p> </p><p>Jango admitted that it probably <em> would </em> be better to go after him. Just so he didn’t slip and eat shit. “What’s compartmentalize mean?”</p><p><br/><br/>“It’s when you try and put your thoughts in different places, like compartments.” He explained, dropping a handhold as it crumbled under his fingers.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh. Okay, thanks.” He nodded, and went back to focusing on getting down.</p><p> </p><p>More and more of the other mandalorians were trickling out of the irrigation pipe alongside the water. And by the time Jango had made it down to the bottom, he saw Arla. He let out a shaky sniffle and sat down on a boulder, and waited for her. He didn’t know what to do, and Arla always had ideas.</p><p> </p><p>Arla was helped down by someone in green and orange armor, and seemed to be talking to someone in blue and brushed gray armor. As soon as she saw him, she dashed across, pushing people aside until she got to him. </p><p> </p><p>Jango was on his feet before he even noticed it, collapsing into her arms and sobbing into her shirt. “Arla- Arla I thought I was gonna be alone- our buire- Arla, ori’vod, What are we gonna do?”</p><p> </p><p>She buried her face in his hair, and he could feel the way she was trembling. “I don’t know, I don’t know Jan’ika, we’ll figure it out, together, promise.”</p><p> </p><p>He nodded, and just clung to her desperately, “Sorry, ‘m getting your shirt all snotty.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s okay, Jango. It’s the least of my worries, Promise.” She whispered, and Jango looked around at their surroundings.</p><p> </p><p>Mereel was addressing the group across the clearing, “We’ll make camp here till sundown. Clean your weapons and try not to get pneumonia.” </p><p> </p><p>The man in the blue armor who was talking with Arla earlier grimaced as he poured water out of his helmet, hair plastered to his forehead.</p><p> </p><p>“We need to find Vizsla, they’ll have to resupply at some point.” One of the mandalorians sighed. “Soon, seeing as they’re burning the fields.”</p><p> </p><p>Jango looked up at the sky, plumes of sickly gray smoke rising from the direction of the house. Buir had been so proud of getting those crops to grow too. He pulled away from Arla, and sat back on the boulder. “I can take you to town. They’ve got power cells, and food, and stuff. That’s where’d I go.”</p><p> </p><p>“Do you know how to use a blaster?”</p><p><br/><br/>“Yeah. Kinda. Arla’s better than I am.”</p><p><br/><br/>“You’re fine with a blaster Jan’ika. I’m better with a rifle.” She sighed, wringing out her sopping curls, eyes red from unshed tears.</p><p> </p><p>Mereel nodded. “The kids come with us. Settle in, we’re gonna be here for a few hours.”</p><p> </p><p>-----</p><p> </p><p>It was terrifying, Arla decided. It was terrifying to have everything you’d ever know stripped and taken from you, your entire life ripped away, and to be put in a group of strangers purely because these strangers just so happened to be the reason why things had just crumbled around you.</p><p> </p><p>And, she thought to herself, it really sucked that she hadn’t grabbed a pair of boots on her way out. Or a jacket, which only dawned on her as the sun began to slip down the horizon. She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered, glancing over at Jango, who was talking animatedly with Mereel, drawing on the ground with a stick. </p><p> </p><p>They’d talked, quietly and hushed between themselves, and agreed that since Arla was older, she'd hang back and watch everyone. If anything even slightly fishy happened, they'd cut and run.</p><p> </p><p>So Jango was with the Mand’alor, plotting how to get into town, and what to do once they got there.</p><p> </p><p>She folded her knees to her chest, and scanned the clearing, glancing warily at Montross, who was leaned up against a tree, doing… <em> something </em>. He looked up and made eye contact with her, and started to walk across towards her.</p><p> </p><p>Arla had been right next to him the entire time they crawled towards safety, and was treated to a far more in depth crash course in swear words than any of her classmates had ever provided. If nothing else, she could now at least make a lot of people want to wash her mouth out with soap.</p><p> </p><p>“Here.” He held something out to her, a bundle of cloth.</p><p><br/><br/>She took it carefully, and squinted at him. Montrosses gloves were gone, and strips were torn from the hem of his padded shirt. She realized as she looked at the bundle, that the colors matched. She started trying to unravel them. “What is it?”</p><p> </p><p>“Shoes.” He shrugged, gesturing to her bare feet. “If we’re going into battle, I’m not letting some kid slow us down just because she steps on glass or something.”</p><p><br/><br/>“I’m thirteen.” Arla muttered.</p><p><br/><br/>“Are you? I don’t see any beskar’gam.” He snorted. “Just put on the shoes, cause otherwise I sacrificed my nice gloves for nothing.”</p><p><br/><br/>She put one on, and had to grudgingly admit that they were pretty cleverly made, with a bowline knot sewn into the ankle of the shoe, so she could tighten it as much or little as she needed. And even the stitching was relatively neat and orderly. “Okay, this is better than I would think you could pull off.”</p><p><br/><br/>His face scrunched up, the perfect picture of disbelief. “You’ve known me for less than three hours and you’ve already decided what I can and can’t do?”</p><p> </p><p>“All you did was swear and curse the Mand’alor’s father for being friends with your mother.” </p><p> </p><p>“It’s their fault that I’m stuck with Jaster, covering his sorry ass.” He nodded serenely. “I could have done something useful instead. Like become a cook.”</p><p> </p><p>“You can cook?”</p><p><br/><br/>“Oh manda, no. I burn water.” Montoss grinned. “But I think charring pots would be more useful than watching his six.”</p><p> </p><p>"Doesn't mean you can sew." She huffed, tying them both securely. "You have the look of someone who's. Y'know. Ori'buyce, kih'kovid.</p><p> </p><p>He glared at her. "You're annoying. I did something nice for you, and you start trying to bully me? Didn't you ever learn to respect your elders?"</p><p> </p><p>Arla grinned. "Okay grandpa."</p><p> </p><p>Montross made a choked noise. "You little<em> -." </em></p><p> </p><p>One of the other Haat Mando'ade smacked the back of his head. "Stop upsetting the kids. They're going through some shit."</p><p> </p><p>Montross waved them off. "Alright alright, jeez. You don't have to <em> remind </em> them of it, Valyn."</p><p> </p><p>Arla managed a weak smile, trying to ignore the feeling of tears prickling.</p><p> </p><p>He looked at her, and she saw a flash of panic in his expression. "Osik, kid, I know. I know this is the worst day of your life, but you have to hold it together. Just for a little bit. Just until we can get everyone somewhere safe. And then you can shatter and put yourself back together. Okay?"</p><p> </p><p>She scrubbed the back of her hand furiously at her eyes. "Yeah. Yeah. I can do that. Mando'karla, right?"</p><p> </p><p>"Elek." He offered, something quiet and reassuring in his tone. "Hey. You know how to handle a rifle, right?"</p><p> </p><p>"Y-yeah." She nodded, hating the way her voice broke. "Yeah I used to get game for dinner. Nothing big though. And me and my friends would go try and knock things over."</p><p> </p><p>"Ever tried sniping?"</p><p> </p><p>"Not really, no."</p><p> </p><p>He grinned. "Wanna give it a shot?"</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Mando'a Translations<br/>Buir/Buire: Parent, Parents<br/>'ika: affectionate diminutive, like ito in spanish<br/>beskar'gam: armor<br/>buy'ce: helmet<br/>kal’choruk: whetstone (lit: blade rock)<br/>beskar: the metal of beskar'gam, or a shortening of armor<br/>Osik: shit<br/>Taabir: march, a command<br/>ad'ike: children, especially little children<br/>ori'vod: older sibling<br/>Mand'alor: leader of the mandalorians<br/>Ori'buyce, kih'kovid: All helmet, no head<br/>Haat Mando'ade: True Mandalorians<br/>Mando'karla: what makes one mandalorian, drive, spirit, ect<br/>Elek: yes</p><p>note that some of this dialogue is lifted/adapted from the open seasons comics</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The town was as quiet as anyone could expect on a midweek day, as the last rays of the sun had just barely faded over the horizon.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The group, the Haat Mando'ade, as well as Arla and Jango, had crept into town an hour later while the streets of the small farming town were completely deserted. Jaster had plied a few hands with credits, and a few with just a nod of acknowledgement and a fist across his chest. Soon enough the group of nine were biding their time in the sparsely furnished upstairs of a local butcher.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Arla sat with her back firmly against the wall. Jango's face was tucked into her shoulder, and he was fast asleep. If he started drooling on her she couldn't be held responsible for her actions. There was a rifle leaned against the wall, one that the butcher had lent them to use, seeing as despite there being numerous spare pistols, enough to give Jango his pick of the lot, there weren't a lot of long range weapons to go around.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Montross had his own rifle set in his lap, as he methodically took it apart and cleaned it thoroughly. Jaster leaned over, and with a completely straight face, dipped his finger in the tiny tin of grease. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He proceeded to wipe it across Montross' forehead.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Damnit, Jaster." He hissed. "I'll kill you for that."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaster sat down on the floor next to him, and sprawled towards him, their pauldrons clacking against each other. He nodded over towards Jango. "No you won't. Cause then you'd wake him. Kid needs his sleep."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"So does she." He muttered, pushing Mereel off of him, only for the other man to wrap his arms around his shoulders. "You can't shoot straight if you're exhausted."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"And when's the last time you slept, then?" Jaster raised his eyebrows. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Montross sighed. "I got twenty at midday. I'm still steady though, and it's not like I can't take a stim. I'm telling</span>
  <em>
    <span> her</span>
  </em>
  <span> to sleep because I'm not giving a preteen stims."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Arla scowled at him and held up the sign for thirteen, holding her palm towards her, and flicking out her thumb, middle and index fingers.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He snorted. And lowered his voice after flicking his eyes over to Jango. "Still don't believe you, not without beskar. After today I'm sure you'll earn it at least."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaster sighed dramatically and pulled Montross' head into his shoulder. "Just take a nap and stop bullying the ade. You too, kid." He looked meaningfully at her. "We have a watch set up, you can let your guard down."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Arla shrugged and let her head rest against the wall, closing her eyes. She tried to forget the soreness in her legs and the sting of unshed tears as she gripped Jango tighter. The near silent bickering of the commandos around them was soothing in a way. It didn't leave her alone with her thoughts. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jango's quiet snoring led her down the path of exhaustion until she found herself in a dreamless sleep.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-----</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jango blinked blearily up at the sight of the man who was shaking his shoulder, trying to gently rouse him from sleep. “Wh- do I have to get up </span>
  <em>
    <span>now?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>He groaned, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Morning to you too,” Jaster snorted. “C’mon kid, we’ve got a long day ahead of us, let's get some food in you. Your ori’vod has been up for a bit now, but we figured it wouldn’t hurt to let you grab a few extra minutes.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>He sat up slowly, feeling like, well, like he’d run for his life the day before. His legs </span>
  <em>
    <span>hurt. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“What’s for breakfast?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Rations!” Jaster said cheerfully. “You’ll hate em, verd’ika.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>He was shuffled off towards the group sitting in the middle of the floor, some sipping and then grimacing at what could only be instant caf, while others stripped, cleaned, and loaded weapons. Arla was next to the man who’d given her the shoes the other day, and in the light of day jango finally got a good look at him when he wasn’t sopping wet. He had pale skin, brown hair, and flinty eyes that seemed just a little too cold.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Montross looked up from where he was teaching Arla how to hold the sniper rifle and nodded at Jango. “You’re up. Ready to eat the worst thing of your life?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Huh?” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>He grimaced. “Rations.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Jaster knocked his knuckles against the back of Montross’ head as he walked behind him, rustling around in a bag near the other man’s legs. “Stop being dramatic.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The rodian woman next to him, Yela, as she’d introduced herself last night, snorted. “And take away his only form of self expression? Alor, that’d just be cruel.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Montross scowled at her. “You are my least favorite today.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Her snout twitched. “Who was it yesterday?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>He gestured across the circle to the wookie boy who was checking all the charge packs. “Kubrar was complaining all day yesterday.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Mrarkkubrarrr looked up, affronted, and growled something out that Jango didn’t understand. Maybe he could ask what the swear words were in shyriiwook later.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Yes I know I constantly complain, but that's my whole deal.” Montross twitched at the biting reply afterward. “Yes I know you’re still growing. Why do you think- No. One preteen at a time.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Jango made eye contact with Arla, stifling a giggle as she screwed up her face at being called a preteen.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Yela sighed. “Montross this is why you're never assigned to be a mentor. Kubrar is a perfectly competent fighter and, might I remind you, </span>
  <em>
    <span>not a preteen."</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Complained like one though."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> Mrarkkubrarrr grumbled, and he snorted at the wookie's response. “Fine. You’re not a child.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He wouldn’t be here if he was a child. Or maybe we would’ve left you behind. If we left you alone with children I think you'd either have put them all in a closet and forgotten them, or they'd have killed you and be celebrating their victory." Jaster mused.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Thank ka’ra you all know better. I don't like kids. Not even these two." He jerked his chin over towards Arla, and then Jango.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Jaster hit him in the head again, harder this time. “You’re supposed to be being supportive.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Montross tilted his head back and blinked at him languidly, “No.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Mereel sighed and walked back around to Jango, holding out a foil wrapped bar. “Here, I’ve got some nutrient replacement cubes to wash this down with, but this’ll… well, It’ll make you feel full. That's really all I can say about it.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>He turned and looked at Arla, silently asking her whether or not he should eat it.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>She gave him a thumbs up. “They're awful, Jan'ika. It's like sawdust </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span> Mr. Korvik's spice cake."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He scrunched his face up. "Ew."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaster grinned and sat down next to him, hitting the ground lightly despite the weight of his beskar. "Yeah, you've already got the hang of rations."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jango peeled the bar open, and took a bite out of it, and suddenly forgot every good thing he had ever eaten. It was </span>
  <em>
    <span>awful. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mereel laughed at him. "There's the face. It gets better after the third bite. Your taste buds give up by then."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yela snorted. "Poor omnivores. I'm so glad that our food supplements are actually edible."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Not all of us can subsist off fruit and insects." Jaster sighed, and even Jango could tell that this was a long worn argument.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Cranky cause you're human, huh?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kubrar high fived her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaster rolled his eyes and opened up a pouch on his hip, pulling out a little green cube, wrapped neatly in plastic. "Here. This'll make sure you have all the vitamins you need."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jango took it tentatively, still grimacing as he chewed. His mouth felt like that one time when he was five, and Arla had convinced him to eat chalk. "Okay."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He looked over to Arla, who was focusing intently on the rifle in her lap, clearly figuring out what each part did. He turned back to Jaster. "So what should I do?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The man hesitated for a moment, hands stilling. "Well, I mean-"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>One of the men who was leaning against the wall spoke up. "He's small and fast, Alor. Have him plant the charges."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"He's a </span>
  <em>
    <span>kid,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Vert." Jaster turned to glare at him. "I didn't spend fifteen years reconstructing the canons of honor just to send an-"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I'm eight." Jango helpfully supplied.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"-an eight year old into battle."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Vert glared back. "Well, we certainly don't have a full team for the type of ambush we're planning. We need all the help we can get."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I can use a gun."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"And the kid can use a gun."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaster pinched the bridge of his nose, and let out a sharp exhale. "Fine. Fuck, you're right, and we're under prepared. But there need to be some ground rules." He turned to Jango. "You get in and out of there as quickly as possible. Anyone who's armor you don't recognize? Shoot first, ask questions later."</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>He nodded. “Okay.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I already know the answer… but have you ever used explosive charges?” Jaster sighed, looking as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders in that very moment.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Jango beamed. “No, but I’m a quick learner.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>The mand’alor looked exhausted. Jango thought he looked even older than Ms. Szocik, and she was </span>
  <em>
    <span>ancient.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Vert- You and Sarad, you can help me run Jango through the basics of detonation safety.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Sarad was probably the least scary of everyone there, Jango thought, as she smiled, scarred face lighting up with glee. She finished coiling her multitude of tiny braids into a low bun near the base of her head and walked over. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>And then she started cheerfully explaining how many things could go terribly, terribly wrong, and he quickly reconsidered. He’d stick with Jaster, actually.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-----</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“So. Rifle against the bag, give yourself as much surface area as possible to deal with any kickback, and how do you line up your sight?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Arla was a little tired of this, and antsy. Not because she was scared. It was just the adrenaline and all that. “Make sure the rifle isn’t canted, and then put my chin on the stock, and then follow the line so my cheek is resting on it and that I can see through the scope.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Montross grinned. “Good! You’re not useless! This’ll make it a little easier I guess. Anyway, I have this pretty much handled, but don’t do anything before I do, or you’ll give us away and compromise this whole thing.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>She huffed. “Not an idiot.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“That has yet to be proven to me.” He snorted, settling down next to her, and setting up his rifle over the ledge, as the first rays of dawn began to touch the horizon, bathing everything in a sluggish gray haze. “And now what do we do?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Arla squinted at him. “Is this a test? I don’t know.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>He snorted, and got comfortable. “Now, we wait.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Shabuir.</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <span>-----</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jango was tucked up against a doorframe, sitting on a porch, trying to look as unsuspicious as possible, a bag in his lap, and an ear comm Jaster had haphazardly assembled sat underneath his carefully placed hair. Jango didn’t like having his hair in his face, but it was better than having somebody question what it was. Sarad had handed him a stress ball and told him to roll it around, because in her words, “Kids play. Right? That's what kids do?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>So there he was, ball on the ground next to him, spinning it against his palm. He tried not to look over at any of the Haat mando’ade hidden in alleys, or with cloaks over their armor, buyce off. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>especially </span>
  </em>
  <span>didn’t look up at the window where he knew Arla was. Because he didn’t want to make her nervous. Obviously. Not because he was worried or anything. Definitely not. She was his big sister, she could handle </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Maybe he was a little worried. Jango didn’t know what he would do if he lost her too- his eyes started stinging and he quickly shook his head, trying to focus on the plan.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Three stages. There were three stages they needed to pull off. It was going to be a piece of cake. Jaster Mereel wasn’t the mand’alor for nothing, Jango reassured himself.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And then the rumble of heavy machinery started echoing down the sleepy street, the few civilians out running errands curiously peering down the street.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>The comm in his ear crackled to life. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <em>
    <span>“They have a tank.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Vert said crisply over the comm.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Jango heard the sound of someone kicking a wall, then </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Well. Fuck. Mild change of plans. Jango, instead of collapsing those decorative pillars to trap them, I’m gonna need you to try and take out that tank.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Jaster quickly explained, confident. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“It’s gonna be a lot, kid, but I </span>
  </em>
  <span>know </span>
  <em>
    <span>you can do it. Remember what I said.”</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <span>“In and out, shoot first.” Jango whispered.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <em>
    <span>“You’ve got this, verd’ika.”</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <span>He nodded to himself more than anything, and listened to the quiet chatter in the street as people started coming out of their shops to see what the commotion was. Jango opened the top of the bag and slowly pulled out one of the detonators. Prime it as soon as he was less than four feet from his target, stick it on, and then run. Sarad would detonate it as soon as he gave her the all clear.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The tank started getting closer, and Jango recognized Greasy and Receding Hairline (Tor Vizsla and Qol Smeth, apparently) sitting on the tank, helmets off, and cocky. Apparently they really </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> think they had killed everyone in the field. Jango was almost a little surprised they didn’t actually check for bodies, but everything his buir had told him made him think that these were the type of people to get overconfident and not check for mistakes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tor started lifting himself out of the coupola, hair still in need of shampoo, and started talking to Kyr’tsad around him. “Alright men, two days, then we head out to Moonus Mandel. There's no one left, so the town is ours. Take whatever you want, the journeyman and his mercenary wife are ashes at this point. Nothing’s stopping you.” He leered at one of the women shopping, and she clutched the clay jug she was holding close to her chest, and glared at him, raising her chin defiantly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>One of them pushed a man in a cloak, a cane sticking out from the hunched figure's hand, telling him in a harshly clipped tone to get out of the way. Jango felt his pulse jump as one of the men Jango hadn’t talked to threw off the cloak, a wild grin on his face, and shot him in the juncture between his chest and stomach plate, angling it up so the bolt tore all the way through the man's shoulder.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Smeth whipped his head around, and snarled. “Haat Mando’ade!”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“What are you waiting for?” Vizsla snapped, as Qol sprang to the ground. “Open fire! Don’t let them leave here alive!”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Jasters voice came back through the comm. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Phase one complete. Phase two, begin. Montross, Arla, give them hell.”</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <span>That was Jango's cue. He threw the bag to the side, and sprinted in through the chaos, keeping hunched over so he was less likely to be caught by a stray blaster bolt, with covering fire from above picking off members of Kyr’tsad like flies.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>He slid underneath the tank, and took the charge out from underneath his arm, priming it as he engaged the maglock, sticking it to the underside of the tank. He thought, absently, that they really should get the cooling system checked. He could see the pipe buckling at a glance, and it wouldn’t be too long before the engine overheated and died. And then he remembered they were blowing it up. He scrambled out through the tiny clearance gap, and sprinted back towards his little alcove. “I’m done! Blow it up!”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>The heat licked at his back as it ignited, sending shrapnel flying. Windows all around them shattered, and for a moment it was silent, and then his ears began a high pitch whine. He gritted his teeth and kept running, pistol in the ready position, and suddenly he saw Smeth, thrown by the explosion.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>The man shook his head to clear it, and sneered at Jango.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Phase three is a go, get the stragglers.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Jaster called through the comms, echoing the man's voice that Jango could hear over the din of battle a bit to his left.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“You killed my family.” Jango croaked out, throat thick, desperately trying to ignore the way his hands were shaking.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Qol spit on the ground. “Casualties of war, kid.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>The sound of steel slipping past beskar, and suddenly a line of agony went up the length of Jango’s back, throwing his shoulder forward, fumbling the blaster, as Qol leapt up from the ground. Jangos eyes widened as he realized it wasn’t just a gauntlet, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>also </span>
  </em>
  <span>had a vibroblade embedded in it.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Jango let out a sharp yell, as he tumbled to the ground. He scrambled for the blaster just out of his reach as Qol beared down on him, teeth bared in a crazed grimace. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Vizsla’s gone! Finish your targets and pull back!” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Jaster called, voice audible even over the ringing in Jango’s ears.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>They were going to leave him to die.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Jango grit his teeth and ignored how it felt like every muscle in his arm was screaming and grabbed the blaster pistol in a last ditch attempt.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Enough playing-” Smeth growled, knife poised to cut across his throat.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Jango shot him in the forehead.</span>
</p><p> </p><p><span>Qol fell back, dead. He was safe. He was </span><em><span>alive.</span></em> <em><span><br/></span></em><em><span><br/></span></em><span>Jango felt his body on the verge of collapse. He was so shaky. His shoulder hurt. </span><em><span>Jango wanted his buire. </span></em></p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Jango?” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>He spun around, arms quivering as he levelled the gun at the person behind him.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Jaster took a step back and held his hands up. “Jango, we need to go. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Now. </span>
  </em>
  <span>You did good.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I- I don’t know if I-” He whispered, and let the gun fall to his side, grip loose.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaster, got down on one knee and picked him up. “Adrenaline crash. You’ll be okay.” His hand came to touch Jango's bloody shoulder. “Well. After we treat this, you’ll be.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“He killed my parents. He’s dead.” He murmured, more to himself than Jaster.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Yes, he’s dead. Does it make you feel any better?” Jaster stood up, holding Jango against his side so he could wrap his arms around the mand’alor’s neck.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“No. I… I don’t know yet.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Good. That’s war. Avenging a death only settles their spirit, not your own. Not yet.” Jaster said in soothing tones, as he walked quickly through the wreckage, almost on the verge of a jog, but still being careful not to jostle Jango’s arm. He craned his head up, and yelled towards the butcher's second floor. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Montross!</span>
  </em>
  <span> We’re leaving! Get your sorry ass out here!”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Now what?” Jango asked, as they quickly moved through the town.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Now,” Jaster sounded amused, “we find transport off of this rock, and I give whoever finds it first a hundred credits.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Jango rested his chin on Jaster’s shoulder, and let out a shaky breath. “My shoulder hurts.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“And that's step two. Don’t you worry.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>-----</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Montross cursed, and slung his rifle over his back, packing everything he could into the bag he’d been bracing it on. “Oh, we’re leaving now Montross, expedited retreat Montross, don’t worry where we’re going Montross, you’ll figure out where Montross.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Arla blinked at him, and set the rifle she had been using on the ground for the butcher to retrieve later. “Wait- They’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>leaving?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He snorted. “They’ve </span>
  <em>
    <span>already</span>
  </em>
  <span> left. Now we get to catch up. Are you a good runner?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I mean, kind of?” She blinked at him.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Well. Keep up.” He sighed, and began down the stairs quickly, navigating to the back door that led into the alley.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She sputtered and started after him, doing one quick scan to make sure they didn't forget anything. Montross was waiting at the mouth of the street, still half bathed in the shadows of early morning.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Okay," he said in a harsh whisper, "See that alley, across and four shops to the right?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Yeah." She whispered back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"When I say go, run as fast as you can. That one's a thorough way, and we can get out of this alley of despair."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You're really dramatic." She muttered.</span>
</p><p> </p><p><span>"You haven't seen the half of it, kid." He snickered, “This is a good day, wait till I monologue.”</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Arla grimaced.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>He quickly stuck his head out, and she could hear his HUD beep. “Okay. </span><em><span>Now.”</span></em> <span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Arla ran out past him, ducking barely in time to avoid the blaster bolt that soared over her head, the blood rushing in her ears drowning out the furious shouts of the Kyr’tsad as they tried half heartedly to rally again.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>She heard the solid thunk of a metal clad body hitting the ground, and then a shrill string of beeps. She knew better than to look back, and reached the alley, sprinting through it, and found herself confronted with a brick wall. </span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Looking around frantically, Arla saw a dumpster, and ran to that, clambering on top and using it to vault over the wall, knees buckling slightly as she hit the packed dirt behind it.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Montross cleared the wall, a hand coming up, and seemingly using his momentum to swing his body over. “Threw a grenade, that should buy us a few minutes, </span><em><span>fucking run!”</span></em></p><p>
  <span>Arla couldn’t help the slightly hysterical laugh bubbling up, and ran beside him, “Is it always like this?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Usually, yeah!”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I have no idea why my mom would ever give this up.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“You’ll have to ask Jaster. Keep up, you’re flagging. The rest of the group is about half a mile ahead of us by now.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>She sighed, and focused on running, her legs aching from the strain. It wasn’t that she was unathletic, it was more that she was pretty sure sprinting for your life two days in a row wasn’t really something bolo ball practice conditioned you for. Arla knew she’d be a hell of a lot faster in real shoes.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>But for now, she just needed to make it half a mile, alongside a guy who thought short sleeves were appropriate for battle.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Great.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Mando'a Translations:<br/>ade: children (plural)<br/>verd'ika: little soldier<br/>ka'ra: stars<br/>shabuir: bastard<br/>Kry'tsad: Death Watch</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jaster looked up, and saw Montross running full speed to catch up to them, Arla trailing behind him. “Hey! You made it! Was starting to think I’d have to call your parents, and not for a social call.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
“One of these days, my parents will stop taking your inane phone calls,” He huffed out, glaring at him, as he slowed to a jog by his side. </p><p> </p><p>“And miss my charming wit? Nah.” Jaster laughed. “Are you hurt?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll live,” Montross groaned, “Well, if this side stitch doesn’t take me out first. <em> Osik.” </em></p><p><em><br/>
</em> <em><br/>
</em>“Out of shape?” He asked sympathetically, patting his shoulder.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
His best friend tipped his head in a way that promised swift retribution in the future. “Do I <em> look </em>out of shape to you?”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
Jaster snorted, and shifted Jango carefully in his arms. “If I gave you my opinion, you’d give me the same look you’ve had since we were seventeen and you grasped the concept of no homo.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
Montross’ scowl was practically audible from behind his helmet. </p><p> </p><p>“That's the one!” He exclaimed cheerfully.</p><p> </p><p>“I’d punch you if you weren’t carrying one of the kids.” He rolled his eyes, and looked over at Jango properly. “Shit- Is he bleeding?”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
Arla had caught up at that moment, and the sound of her sharp inhale made Jaster wince. “Jango’s bleeding? What?”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
Jango’s head lifted slightly, and he propped his chin up on Jasters shoulder to look at her. “The guy who killed buir- He got me with a supid knife embedded in his gauntlet. It hurts.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
Arla’s voice went up two octaves and three decibels. <em> “What?!” </em></p><p> </p><p>“It’s okay.” Jango began to reassure her. “I shot him in the face. He’s super dead now.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
“You’re <em> eight!” </em></p><p><br/>
<br/>
“You shot people too!” He argued.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
Jaster quickly made sure his external comm wasn’t on and sighed heavily. As soon as they got to base he’d figure out something for them. Therapy, for sure. And somebody to foster them maybe? Arla was technically an adult, but thirteen was just <em> so </em> young to be thrown to wolves of the world. </p><p> </p><p>Until they found somewhere though, he’d let them stay with him.</p><p> </p><p>Which meant he was going to have to clear out that spare room that served as a “put it in here and forget about it” room. Crap, he still had that hideous vase that Yela’s husband had gifted him.</p><p> </p><p>He’d probably have to put it on the mantle or something. Jaster shuddered.</p><p> </p><p>The details, he’d work out later, right now he was starting to get worried about how drained Jango was getting, his face beginning to look ashy. Which, alongside the shivering seemed to point to an adrenaline crash. Thankfully, he knew it wasn’t from blood loss, because the flow had slowed to sluggish almost five minutes ago. Once they got into a ship it’d be easy to just put some bacta and a bandage on it, and then he’d be good as new. Really, the most worrying part of the whole injury was how Arla looked like she was going to both faint and kill Jaster for letting her brother get injured.</p><p> </p><p>He turned off the sound dampening. “He’s gonna be okay, It’s not deep, and I don’t think it even hit muscle.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
Arla squinted at him, clearly unconvinced.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m fine Arla! It doesn’t hurt <em> that </em>bad.” Jango piped up, trying his best to reassure her.</p><p> </p><p>Jaster nodded at that, trying to seem collected and be a steady presence for both of them, so they wouldn’t freak out more. He was just hoping that neither of them realized just how out of his depth he was here.<br/>
<br/>
-----</p><p> </p><p>“And… There!”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
Jango opened one of his eyes slightly. “It’s done? Already?”</p><p> </p><p>Jaster patted his other shoulder lightly. “Yep, told you it wouldn’t hurt. I just put some bacta on it, so it’ll start tingling in a few minutes. I only lightly taped down the gauze, so <em> don’t </em> itch at it, or you’ll mess up the healing process.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
“Oh.” He peered his head around trying to get a better look at the bandage. “Cool!”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
The mand’alor laughed at that and ruffled his hair. “You’re a good kid. Now all you have to do is wait until we get to Zharavo and back on base.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
He frowned. “Zharavo? I don’t know where that is.”</p><p> </p><p>“Bonagal’s seventeenth moon. Don’t worry, the fact you don’t know about it is reassuring.”</p><p> </p><p>“Is that where your base is?”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
Jaster nodded. “Yeah, It’s not a particularly big moon, like Concordia, or even one of Krownest’s medium sized moons, but it’s a good base.”</p><p><br/>
“Isn’t it dangerous to have your base on a moon?”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
“Well, not really, seeing as it’s all built underground, and we have some great anti-ship defenses.”</p><p> </p><p>Jango tried to imagine what an anti ship device could look like, and was rapidly oscillating between 'giant spike pit' and 'laser that cuts off the wings'. The spike pit seemed cooler though. "How?"</p><p> </p><p>Jaster blinked at that owlishly. "Actually, I'm not really sure. I'm not in charge of it, Vert just came to me with some blueprints and a budget, and I signed off on it. I think it's got ion cannons."</p><p> </p><p>Jango nodded sagely. That made sense, an ion cannon could <em> definitely </em> mess up a ship. Maybe even blow it up. "How do they know not to blow us up?"</p><p> </p><p>"We comm ahead." He shrugged. "It's not <em> that </em> fancy of a system."</p><p> </p><p>"Where's Arla?" Jango swung his feet back and forth. They didn't touch the ground in this chair.</p><p> </p><p>Jaster pointed over his shoulder to the larger ship cabin, where the rest of the haat mando'ade were. "Probably in there napping. We still have a three hour trip until we get there. You'd be best off trying to nap too."</p><p> </p><p>He scowled at that. "I don't need a nap, I'm not an ik'aad"</p><p> </p><p>"I know, I know! I promise you I'm not suggesting it because I think you're a baby, I'm saying it because we've all had a long couple of days, and a supercommando gets their rest where they can. Even if that is in the hanger bay of a transport ship."</p><p> </p><p>He crossed his arms at him.</p><p> </p><p>"You don't<em> have </em> to take a nap, Jango. Nobody is going to make you. Just don't cause any trouble while we're all resting." Jaster sighed. "If you get fidgety, I'll uh, I'll lend you my data pad. I think I have some books on there."</p><p> </p><p>"Okay."</p><p> </p><p>"C'mon, you can come settle down with the rest of us." Jaster said, barely stifling a yawn. "You can use my cloak to sit on or whatever."</p><p> </p><p>Jango sat down, and was handed Jasters datapad, queued to some book about the rise and fall of human egalitarian societies on the outer rim. Jango didn’t even know what that <em> meant. </em> And he couldn’t ask Jaster, because as soon as he had leaned against the wall, the mand’alor had started snoring.</p><p> </p><p>He frowned and highlighted the word. He’d ask later.</p><p> </p><p>-----</p><p> </p><p>Arla snorted when she saw her brother passed out on the floor, datapad on his chest, head pillowed on Jaster’s leg.</p><p> </p><p>Jaster smiled up at her, his dark eyes tired, bags pronounced under the harsh lights of the ship. “Need something?”</p><p> </p><p>“Not really.” She didn’t really know what to do with her hands, so she tucked them under her arms, “Well, actually, I do have a question.”</p><p> </p><p>“Shoot.”</p><p> </p><p>“What happens now?” Arla asked, trying to ignore the crushing uncertainty. “I- we don’t really have any relatives, and I don’t know if I can support myself <em> and </em>  Jango, I’ve never had a job before-”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
Jaster interrupted her, a single hand coming out to stall her. “-Whoa, whoa, deep breath kid. One thing at a time. Let’s start with the easiest one first.”</p><p> </p><p>She nodded, “Okay. What’s that?”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, you may not have relatives, but we’re not going to abandon you guys. I have an extra room in my quarters back on base. It’s kind of small, and filled with random junk, but I’ll clear it out as soon as we land, and grab some cots. You two can stay there until we find someone willing to take you in, or find you two some unused space that you can have to yourselves if that's what you’d rather.”</p><p> </p><p>Her shoulders slumped in relief. “Oh. Oh yeah, that helps a <em> lot.” </em></p><p> </p><p>“Second- yes you’re <em> technically </em> an adult, but I’m not going to make you get a job or anything, or hell, even fight. We have plenty of verd who are the age of majority, and I’m pretty sure you’d prefer to finish your schooling before you pick up a rifle as a career. Explore your options.”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s an option? I thought you guys were just all warriors.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
“Well, in a pinch, yes. But we’re complex people. I technically have two PhD's from the university of Keldabe.” He laughed quietly. “Nothing useful, let me tell you that, but my thesis for the last degree is what made me split from the traditionalist Mandalorian sector.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
“More like you nailed your stupid fucking essay to the doors of the Oyu’baat.” Montross grumbled from the corner. “And then fractured the last true stronghold against the fucking hut’uun Sundari.”</p><p> </p><p>“You complain like you weren’t one of the first to follow me.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
Arla watched the two men bicker, and walked over to an unoccupied section of the wall, leaning back against it. At least she knew they wouldn’t be kicked out as soon as they could stand. She craned her head to look at the viewport at the back of the ship, and saw the edges of the gas giant come into view. Looked like they were almost there.</p><p> </p><p>Jaster caught her eye once he had finished arguing with Montross. “Once we get on base, I’ll go help you get you and your brother registered, and find someone to show him around.”<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>-----</p><p> </p><p>There was a boy sitting on a crate shoved against the wall, with dark skin and close cropped curly hair. He waved at Jango when they met eyes, and hopped down off the crate, walking towards him with a skip in his step.</p><p><br/>
"Hi, I think I'm supposed to show you around, I'm Myles." The boy introduced himself.</p><p> </p><p>"I like your freckles. I'm Jango." Jango stuck his arm out, and they clasped forearms. </p><p> </p><p>"Cool. Want to go see the stuff that we're not allowed to touch?" He beamed. “You’re new, so if we get caught we can just say that you got lost!”</p><p> </p><p>Jango liked him already. “That sounds fun.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
“Of course it does, I came up with it.” Myles laughed. “C’mon, before the mand’alor makes me give you an actual tour.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
He started following Myles as he picked his way across the hangar. “D’you live here?”</p><p> </p><p>“Well yeah, my buir adopted me, and he lives here. And since I can’t go into battle...” Myles shrugged. “It’s gonna be cool to have more kids around, though. You have a sister, right?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, Arla. She’s cool I guess.”</p><p> </p><p>Myles opened a door that led to a dim hallway. “How old are you? I’m seven, but I turn eight in two months.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
“I’m eight.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
“Bummer. I’m still one of the youngest then.” He sighed dramatically. “D’you want to go see the reactor or the forge first?”</p><p> </p><p>“Reactor.”</p><p> </p><p>Myles nodded in approval. “Good choice. I just gotta tell you not to touch anything, or else you might lose a hand or eye or something.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh <em> cool.” </em></p><p> </p><p>“Oh yeah,” Myles grinned. "I think we're gonna be friends."<br/>
<br/>
-----<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>“So what grade are you?” The mon calamari man asked, not unkindly, but clearly bored at the tedium of paperwork. “I’m the teacher here, you can call me Dackluc Uthi. I run lessons and tutoring, but for the most part you’ll be learning from modules and supplemental material.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m in grade ten.” </p><p> </p><p>“Oh! Going to be getting your armor soon then, eh?”</p><p> </p><p>“Um, I don’t know-”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
Jaster slung an arm around her shoulders. “As soon as she settles in, I’ll take her down to the forge. She’s more than completed her verd’goten.” He froze, and backed off. “Well, if she wants, of course.”</p><p> </p><p>Arla smiled at that, and looked back down at the form she was filling out. “That’d be nice, I think.”</p><p> </p><p>“Okay! Well let me sort all your paperwork out, and you can take near a dozen aptitude tests, What a welcome to the Haat Mando’ade, huh?” Dackluc chuckled.</p><p><br/>
-----</p><p> </p><p>Jango and Arla looked on in amazement as Jaster frantically started shoving things out of his way, attempting to clear a path, and gathering things up and setting them on the desk that was tucked away in the corner. “I promise I’m usually way more organized!” He reassured, “This has just been. Well. To be fair I usually just shove things in here. Hm. Maybe I’m not <em> that </em> organized.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
“Do you… want help?” Arla asked, amused. </p><p> </p><p>“No, no, you kids have been through a lot- shit-” He cursed as he dropped a large book on the floor, “-uh. Hm. I need to tackle this methodically.” Jaster crouched down and set everything in an undignified heap on the floor. “Are you guys hungry?”</p><p> </p><p>-----</p><p><br/>
<br/>
Arla was pushing at her food, clearly attempting to be polite, but with barely hidden disgust on her face.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
“I’m sorry.” Jaster apologized again. “I pretty much only ever cook for myself- and even then I’ll just have a ration bar. I thought I could manage mac n cheese, but, well,” He pushed his fork into what could only be described as orange slop, and left it sticking straight up, “I’m pretty sure I’ve failed on all accounts.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
Jango lifted his up at the bottom, and it came up like a single sheet. “It’s burnt too.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
He put his head in his hands. “Shi- shoot. I think I have a frozen nerf patties in the freezer-”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
“- No thanks, I’ll cook.” Jango said decisively, and Jaster heard the chair scrape across the floor as the kid got down. “Arla will you help me cut things?”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
“Sure.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
Jaster lifted his head, trying not to admit defeat. “Hey, wait a second, you can’t do that.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
Jango was already pulling the chair behind him so he could get up to the cupboards bolted to the wall out of his reach. “Why not?”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
“Well- I- It’s just that- Do you even know how to cook?” He asked in disbelief, watching the siblings walk to the tiny kitchenette and eye it critically. </p><p> </p><p>“Do you?” the eight year asked, so matter-of-factly that Jaster couldn’t even bring himself to feel insulted.</p><p> </p><p>Arla opened up the fridge, grimacing as she saw four bottles of condiments, a carton of milk, eggs, and a handful of root vegetables stuffed into the crisping drawer. “Okay. Um.”</p><p> </p><p>Jango shoved his way under her arm, and started grabbing out the tubers and squash. “Grab the milk and see if there's any spices.”</p><p> </p><p>“Do you guys want help? Oh- Second shelf of the cabinet to the right of the stove.” </p><p> </p><p>They turned to him in tandem, “No.”</p><p> </p><p>He held his hands up in surrender. “Okay- okay! I’ll just go try and clear out the room you guys are staying in for the meantime then. Uh. You guys… scream if you get hurt? I guess?”</p><p> </p><p>Jango waved him away as he dragged his chair over to the sink so he could get a better vantage to wash the tubers. “We won’t, I’m in charge and Arla is sous chef cause I’m not tall enough to cut veggies here, and she can’t get hurt because that would be bad for my record as head chef.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
Jaster nodded as if he understood any of that, and made note to borrow a step stool from someone.</p><p> </p><p>-----</p><p> </p><p>Jango took the milk from the counter and put it in the big saucepan he’d found under the counter, and sat there, patiently stirring it until it began to simmer, like buir had taught him. He turned the heat down to low and turned to Arla who was methodically chopping tubers into neat cubes. “D’we have any other vegetables?”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
“No.” She said, a little strained. “Not even onions, I looked.”</p><p> </p><p>“Are you okay?” He asked quietly.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
“No.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
“Yeah. Me either.”</p><p> </p><p>“Here. The tubers are done.”</p><p> </p><p>“Put them in the pot, you’re taller so you won’t get splashed.” He instructed. “Mr. Jaster didn’t have any cheese or anything so we just have to hope the spices make it taste okay.”</p><p> </p><p>“Which ones do you want?” She asked, opening the cabinet Mereel had told her they were in.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
“Um. Pepper and salt, obviously. Does he have thyme or rosemary?”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
“No. He does have onion and garlic powder though.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
Jango frowned. “I guess that'll work.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
He took the little duraplast bottles she handed him, and started measuring them into the palm of his hand. “Can you get me the nerf patties he was talking about?”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
She shrugged, and went to the tiny freezer, pulling out the frozen patties. “How many?”</p><p> </p><p>“Just one.” He put the lid on top of the soup, and went to rummage for a frying pan. “Can you get the butter that was on the table?”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
“I think it was margarine, but okay.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
“What does- did- buir say, though?” He stumbled over the words.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
Arla laughed a little wetly. “Fat is fat when you’re frying meat.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
Jango took the margarine from her quietly and used a spatula to pull off a piece, scraping it off on the bottom of the pan. He turned the burner on, and the metal coil immediately lit up a brilliant blue, ready to go.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
The butter sizzled, and once it was all melted, he put the patty on. </p><p> </p><p>Arla leaned against the counter behind him and shook her head slightly, letting out a slightly hysterical laugh. “I don’t even feel like crying right now? Is that normal?”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
“Why are you asking <em> me? </em> I’m <em> eight.” </em> He grumbled. “I don’t feel like crying either. I just feel. Kinda like when it’s the middle of the night, and the blanket comes off? And you don’t feel like pulling it back on even though you’re cold? Does that make any sense?”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
“It doesn’t, but that’s okay.” She sighed.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
Jango stared at the patty, like he could will it to thaw faster with just his eyes. “But we’re cooking. Buir always said the best way to deal with emotions is to cook them out.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
“Yeah, I guess he did.” Arla murmured, hands going to slip into her pockets when she froze. “Huh.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
He turned to look at her. “What?”</p><p> </p><p>“I have one of Ori’buirs whetstones in my pocket still.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
“Oh. Well that's good.” He said decisively. “Means we still have some of the homestead with us.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
She nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, until we can go back- Yeah.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
Jango started breaking up the patty into tiny chunks, so it would cook evenly, and they stood in silence.</p><p> </p><p>When the nerf was finished cooking, Arla wordlessly handed him a plate with a flimsitowel on it, which he ladled it onto to cool, and poured the juices into the soup that was still simmering.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
“Now we wait for it to finish.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
“Do you think we should go help Jaster?”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
“Probably.”</p><p> </p><p>-----</p><p> </p><p>Jaster was in way over his head, as he haphazardly moved things into arbitrary piles of ‘Keep’ ‘Sort’ and ‘Toss’. It was intimidating how much shit he had stashed in the small office. “Damn.”</p><p> </p><p>Maybe his filing system needed some work. Maybe he needed an actual filing system.</p><p> </p><p>He gathered the things in the toss pile up into a trash bag, and turned around to see the two Fett siblings staring at him. “Wh- Oh, hey guys.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
“We’re done with the soup for probably an hour.” Jango said assertively. “I have a timer for half an hour, so we’re going to help you do this.”</p><p> </p><p>“You kids don’t need to do that.” He sighed.<br/>
 </p><p>“Mr. Mereel,” Arla started, tone somewhere between amused and condescending. “We’d like to actually have somewhere to sleep in this room.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
“Just call me Jaster,” He pinched the bridge of his nose “and honestly, I could use the help.”</p><p> </p><p>“We know!” Jango said cheerfully, and started happily digging into the mess.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
Arla was a little more subdued in her actions, picking things up and eyeing them critically. “You sure have a lot of stuff.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
“I know.” He groaned. “People just seem to give me things, and then I never know what to <em> do </em> with them.</p><p> </p><p>She held an empty cardboard box out. “Put everything you can’t live without in here, and we’ll clear <em> some </em> space.”</p><p> </p><p>“Teamwork makes the dream work!” Jango piped up from the corner he’d started on.</p><p> </p><p>-----</p><p> </p><p>“This is the best soup I’ve ever had in my life.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
Jaster looked like he was about to cry. It was, Jango thought, a little sad</p><p> </p><p>“It was okay,” He muttered, taking another sip. “Kinda watery and bland.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
“Mm.” Arla hummed, her bowl half eaten in front of her, spoon set to the side.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
Jango felt tired. More tired than he’d probably <em> ever </em> felt. And Arla looked even worse than he felt.</p><p> </p><p>Jaster seemed to notice this too. “The cots should be here soon, Doz is bringing them by. Arla, in my room there's an en suite bathroom, if you want to shower. There's plenty of hot water.”</p><p> </p><p>She nodded absently, and got up.</p><p> </p><p>“There's clean folded towels under the sink!” He called after her, before turning to Jango, concern written all over his face. “How are you holding up, verd’ika?”</p><p> </p><p>“Um. Bad.” He said quietly, pushing around the soup in his bowl.</p><p> </p><p>Jaster nodded quietly. “Do you need me to help you say remembrances? Or does your sister know how to start them?”</p><p> </p><p>“Arla knows them. She learned when she turned ten, cause Ori’buir said that before then you don’t need to have it memorized.”</p><p> </p><p>“Alright. If you two want to say your litany with me, you can, and if you want to do it alone you can do that too. If you need anything, you can come to me. Even if it's the middle of the night, and you need a glass of water, you can come wake me up.”</p><p> </p><p>“You promise?”</p><p> </p><p>“I do, I promise. I’ll always be there for you.”</p><p> </p><p>-----</p><p> </p><p>The cots weren’t exactly <em> comfortable </em>, but seeing as they were made of tightly stretched fabric across a durasteel frame, it was easily forgivable. Jaster had done the best he could, and covered them with blankets and a gratuitous amount of pillows, but they were still cots.</p><p> </p><p>Still, they were like bliss to lay down in. Arla leaned back and almost wept at how the strain on her legs was suddenly relieved. And then realized that the tears hadn’t stopped welling. She swiped ineffectively at her face with the back of her hand and hoped she could just go to bed.</p><p> </p><p>She lay there, and stared up at the ceiling. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the blindingly bright shots of plasma, and heard her buire screaming at them to run. And kept hearing the same shots over and over.</p><p> </p><p>They were dead.</p><p> </p><p>It was just her and Jango now.</p><p> </p><p>She brought a pillow up to her chest and buried her face in it to muffle the sob.</p><p> </p><p>When the tears were streaming down her face in earnest, she had to lift her head to breathe. Jango was sitting at the edge of his cot, fists balled up, and tears falling to his lap.</p><p> </p><p>“Jan’ika?” She whispered across the short distance between them, voice thick and slow with emotion.</p><p> </p><p>He looked up, startled. “Huh? Arla?”</p><p> </p><p>“D’yo-” She hiccupped a little. “- Do you wanna put your cot next to mine? Like when we used to go camping?”</p><p> </p><p>He nodded, and pulled his cot to hers, quickly huddling under the blanket she was using to shield herself from the outside world.</p><p> </p><p>She pulled him close, and let herself cry, and not caring in the slightest that Jango was doing the same into her shoulder.</p><p> </p><p>A ruined shirt could be replaced.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
Family couldn’t.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Mando'a Translations:<br/>ik'aad: baby, child under the age of three<br/>Oyu'baat: historical bar in Keldabe<br/>hut'uun: coward, pretty much THE insult<br/>verd’goten: warriors trial<br/>Ori'buir: look man. we have to differentiate between parents SOMEHOW and they didn't exactly get names in open seasons.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i've been calling this chapter 3.5 in my head</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>In the morning, there were pancakes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Arla squinted at them. “These look edible. Why do these look edible?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Jaster sighed. “It’s because I didn’t make them myself. They’re from the commissary.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Oh okay.” She nodded, and sat down, digging into them with relish.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jango came out of the room they had slept in a few moments later, looking exhausted, and rubbed at his eyes. “Pancakes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Not mine.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Oh, cool.” He immediately made himself a plate and started drowning everything in syrup.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Arla was torn between surprised disgust and being impressed yet bewildered. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you want some breakfast with your syrup?” Jaster laughed. “Be sure to brush your teeth, after this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Jango looked smug as he shoved a forkful into his mouth. “Don’t have to brush my teeth if I don’t have a toothbrush.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>The mand’alor paused, and his brow furrowed. “Yeah, that was an oversight on my part. When you guys go therapist shopping, I’ll be sure to get you toothbrushes.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ignoring her brother groaning in disappointment, Arla leaned forward. “Therapist shopping? What is </span>
  <em>
    <span>that?” </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So basically,” Jaster gestured with his knife absently, “You get to speed date therapists and see if you connect with any of them. Wait, do you know what speed dating is?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“No, but I can guess.” She said dryly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaster set his knife back down. “Good, you’re thirteen. You don’t need to know what speed dating is. Unless you do. Do thirteen year olds date?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arla made a face, scrunching her nose up in distaste. “Ew gross, boys.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>He nodded. “Boys are gross, I agree. Glad to see we’re all on the same page.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-----</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Classes were boring, and Dackluc was right. The number of tests she had taken, just to prove that she knew how to do long division, and her sector neighbors' history, was exhausting. But now she was set up with the right courses and was making sure that she hadn’t missed anything important. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Jango was furiously coloring in one of the worksheets he’d been given. It was one of those puzzles where you had to solve simple addition questions, and then color the answers, to form a picture.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It looked like a loth cat, but she couldn’t be sure, because Jango was only up to the 7’s on answering.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She turned back to her module and sighed. History was never her favorite, and she </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> didn’t care about the child monarchs of Naboo. They weren’t even actually monarchs if they were elected, that was a civil princedom, Jaster had explained heatedly over dinner the other night. And then he’d elaborated for twenty minutes until all three of them had forgotten where the original point had come from.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Arla filled in the answer about the headdresses purpose, and moved on to the next planet's questionnaire, absently wondering about when Jaster would find them somewhere to say.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>It was bitter, and maybe a little callous of her, but they’d been living with him for almost two weeks, and Jango was starting to latch onto him as a father figure. Arla grudgingly admitted that maybe she was as well, which wasn’t looking great.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Sure, they were in therapy, and had been given the resources they would need to grieve and move on with life, but Arla couldn’t help but think that when Jaster kicked them out it would set back at least Jango's progress.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Probably her own too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Arla worried her lip with her teeth, and tried her best to concentrate on her school work.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-----</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was a girl in her class that kept staring at Arla, and she didn’t know what to do about it. At first it was just because she was new, but after a week or so, certainly the shine must’ve worn off. But still, she’d look up sometimes and be met with the purple eyes of the rodian girl who sat two desks away. She’d grin at Arla and then go back to her work, pink antenna flicking as she dropped her head back down.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After three weeks Arla was at her wits end. At lunch break, she walked over to the bench where the Rodian girl was and stood in front of her until she looked up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Hi?” The girl blinked, confused.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Why do you keep looking at me in class?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Oh!” She sat up straighter, and arla noticed she had darker pink scales over her nose and her eyebrows, that almost matched her hair. Which wasn’t the point. “Because you don’t seem to have any friends yet, and I was waiting till you approached me so I didn’t scare you off!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>That was… Almost nice of her? “You’re sitting alone.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>She waved a hand dismissively. “Today, yeah. Flitz has a cold and Pheebs is helping aer buir out with some sorta tech thingy. It’s no biggy. C’mon sit down, I’m Sipho!” Sipho scooted over on the bench and patted next to her, clearly expecting Arla to sit down.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Arla took a seat and eyed her a little warily as she pulled out her lunch. It was yet another sandwich, because that was all that Jaster could reliably make. “I’m Arla.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sipho seemed to have some sort of fruit pouch which she was sipping through a straw. “I know, don’t worry. What do you do for fun?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Oh.” She had to think about it for a second. “Well, I used to go shoot cans off fence posts with my friends. And then sometimes we’d go explore the creek beds and see if we could find fossils.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Did you ever find any?” Sipho leaned forward.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Her eyes had galaxies in them. “Um, well one time we found something that we thought was a fossil but it turned out it was just Stephs older brother burying things in the woods for us to find. So, no. Not really, but it was pretty fun to try and figure out what kind of rock was which.” Arla explained, frustrated that she kept seeming to trip over her words.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sipho seemed to either not notice or politely ignore her messy phrasong, and instead nodded enthusiastically. “My dad- he’s a zeltron, he’s why I’m pink- when he was on Zeltros getting his degree, he took a geology class, and he still has the textbook. You should come over and we can look at it! I wonder how different the rocks there are to the ones on- um, wherever you’re from-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Concord Dawn.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“- Concord Dawn, thanks, are to each other!” She finished cheerfully. “Plus I think we have cookies, and my mom and I can’t eat that many of them, so you could help us out and eat them before they go stale.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“That sounds nice. Um, where do you live? I can ask Jaster-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don't worry about that, it’s okay, I’ll just wait for you after class today and we can walk together! Mand’alor Mereel is pretty cool, so you can just comm him, and tell him I bet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I’ll trust your judgement on this one,” Arla shrugged. “But if I get in trouble I want extra cookies.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Deal!” Sipho laughed, leaning towards her bag, and pulling out a bedazzled folder. “Check out these cool pictures of dogs I found on the holonet and printed out. This one’s wearing </span>
  <em>
    <span>sunglasses.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-----</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jango collapsed to the ground in a huff, laying on his back and staring up at the ceiling. “Ow.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh c’mon,” Myles giggled. “I didn’t hit you </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> hard, we’re just training.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Do you do this </span>
  <em>
    <span>every</span>
  </em>
  <span> day?” He groaned, pulling himself up into a sitting position. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Myles offered his arm out, and when Jango took it, hauled him off the floor. “Not every day. Some days we get to go practice at the range instead of doing hand to hand.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“That rules. Can you show me how you did that leg sweepy thing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Myles stepped back, getting a good distance between them. “Okay, sure!” He stood straight, with his hands loosely at the sides, “So, it’s all about momentum, and Vert says it's totally different in full beskar, but that it’s still important we get the basics down early, or something like that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re not… momentuming, though. You’re just still.” Jango pointed out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Well duh, you gotta </span>
  <em>
    <span>watch.”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Myles rolled his eyes. “You gotta start with your arms, right? So you can throw a punch with your right,” he demonstrated, “and then while you’re doing that, you pull your left arm towards your right shoulder, so it’s almost like a circle.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jango watched, and saw the quick shift of movement between Myles’ arms, where his left hand seemed to trail after the right.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And then-” Myles suddenly dropped down, his left arm going above his head, right parallel with his leg. “So I keep my right leg outstretched, right? And my left bent.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“No, left.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Jango stuck his tongue out at him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He grinned at that. “Anyway, my left heel? It’s off the ground, I’m on my toes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“And you’re right one has the outside towards me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Yeah, I’m not really sure what it’s called, but it's like how in bolo ball, you’re only supposed to kick with the side of your foot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I’m not very good at bolo ball.” He grumbled. “Ori’buir said it was because I would point my toes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Weird!” He said cheerfully. “Okay, now here's the tricky part, the whole circle bit. I can’t do it slow, sorry, but it's kinda obvious what I’m doing.” Myles stood up out of the low crouch.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jango watched carefully as he did everything he’d demonstrated and then pulled the momentum of his arms with him, his left hand swinging down to be a pivot point on the ground as his right came to his chest as he spun, leg extended to knock someone down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>It looked simple enough to Jango. “Can I try?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sure! Wanna try and knock me over?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Jango beamed. “That’d be really fun, actually!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Myles stepped back with sparring range, and stood placidly, purposefully making himself easy to knock over.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Following the mental steps Myles had walked him through, Jango started doing the kick. And as soon as he made contact with Myles’ leg, he lost his balance and pitched forward, arms flailing and barely saving him from the embarrassment of face planting onto the mat. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Myles sat down where he was sprawled. “You wanna go do something else?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“... Yeah.” He admitted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“We still haven’t snuck into the vents, we could try that? I bet if we worked together we could stack and get up to the high ones.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Okay!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-----</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When they entered the forge the first thing Arla noted was just how </span>
  <em>
    <span>hot</span>
  </em>
  <span> it was in the room. She absently wished she was wearing short sleeves or shorts. The second thing was the tall woman hammering a sheet of metal atop an anvil, shaping it into a long taper. Jaster waited patiently in the [foreway?] for her to stop hammering, which took a few minutes when the metal had gone from red hot to the color of normal durasteel.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“What?” She sighed, looking up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Calluna, this is Arla. She needs her first set of armor.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Calluna moved the metal to what appeared to be a metal cooling rack. “Beskar work, huh? What do you do, kid?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Um- I don’t-” Arla began to stutter, suddenly struck by the fact that this woman was even more buff than her mother, and easily six foot two. It wasn’t intimidating, she didn’t think, but she was definitely impressed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“She’s ranged.” Jaster said smoothly, covering up for her sudden nervousness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“So, heavy elbow pads, knee and thigh, light on the ghet’bur for more upper movement?” She hummed thoughtfully, gloved hands crossing in front of her chest. “Do you have an opinion on styles, kih mando'ade?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>She was being addressed again, “No?” she managed to squeak out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“That makes it easier for me, I have a design in mind.” She walked over to one of the wall length cabinets and leaned in, pulling out a bundle of beskar bearings, and armor scraps. Calluna then walked over to the central forge and pulled it open, seemingly immune to the heat radiating from it as she set it into a recess to be heated, and become malleable.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Arla wondered if that was a devaronian trait, but assumed it’d be rude to ask. Instead she watched mildly worried as Calluna approached her, brandishing a measuring tape. “Um- what's that for?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Measurements.” She said dryly, “Lift your arms.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>She shot a panicked look towards Jaster, who just shrugged in a ‘what can you do’ kind of way. Arla raised her arms and stood still awkwardly, moving when she was told to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Eventually Calluna stood up, satisfied with the measurements she’d gotten, and quickly jotted them down on a pad. “I’ll get everything nice and melted, do the easy parts first, and get your chestplate and helmet done last, after I’ve finalized the draft design.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Jaster nodded at that, “How long?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Eh, three days give or take? I have other projects so I can’t devote all my attention to getting this done quickly, or otherwise it’d be rushed and shitty. And what kind of alor’goran would I be then?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“A Vizsla’s!” Jaster beamed, and from the way the devaronian woman snorted at that, it was clearly a longstanding joke between them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you have any family beskar?” Calluna asked, turning to her. “While the other bits are melting I can incorporate it easily.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Arla frowned. “Uh. no. I don’t. We uh. I think they- they probably took it off my dad-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaster put a hand on her shoulder, squeezing reassuringly. “It’s okay. It happens. You carry them with you anyway.” He offered quietly.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Yeah. Yeah I guess.” She said, voice cracking, suddenly aware of the both of them looking at her. It burnt even more than the flames that had licked at her heels only weeks earlier, and continued to smoulder in her mind.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Calluna cleared her throat a little bit, picking up on the tension. “It’s not really a big deal, plenty of foundlings start their legacies with cin vhetin armor. It all has to start from something-”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Jaster nodded. “Of course, that’s true. But, you know what? This </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> House Mereel, so,” He began to detach one of his pauldrons, “You’re one of us now, one of my house, and one of my </span>
  <em>
    <span>clan </span>
  </em>
  <span>at this point. So. You can share everything I have to offer. You and Jango. As long as you need.” He coughed a little, clearly realizing he’d started down the path of a dramatic speech. “I needed my armor reforged anyway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Calluna took it, ignoring the way Arla began to protest and set it in the forge.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>The beskar took a brilliant red glow on, and melted into white, incorporating into the melted beskar that was already pooling from the scraps and the ingots that had been placed in the heat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>From what Arla had learned about Jaster, that had been as good as saying outright that she and Jango could stay for as long as they needed. Now she just needed to convince Jango that they wouldn’t be thrown out, not now, and not ever.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>The way her eyes stung was definitely from the heat, and the heat alone.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>we're on tumblr @forcesensitivebantha and @koyacyi-vode if you want to yell at us</p></blockquote></div></div>
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